Ready For Another Game?
by LeighannTF14
Summary: Another Post-Reichenbach fanfic. Sherlock has finally returned from being dead, but he isn't the only one to return. And not everyone is happy about his return. And another case hits Immediately after his return, and it becomes more pressing to Sherlock than any he has had before. I did not actually write how Sherlock returned, I will leave you to your own deductions. :)


**A/N So sorry if this is space weird in some places. I had to type it on my kindle, paste it into my kindle email, email it to myself on the computer, copy here, then fix all the weird spacing. Long story short it took me almost three hours. I will try to update this as often as is part of it that is from the many happy returns Sherlock video. you don't need to have seen the video to read this, nut if you have seen it part of this will sound very familiar. Other than that Please comment and tell me what you think Thank you!**

* * *

"Leave a note, when?"

"Goodbye John."

"No... Don't"

John watched his  
friend lean in and fall. He dove forward to save him, but some invisible force held him back, digging, cutting into his legs. He struggled, thrashing, clawing, and fighting to get to his friend. To somehow save him before he hit the ground. But whatever it was held tight and John only watched helplessly. "Sherlock!"

Less than a second after Sherlock hit the cold, hard, ground, John was finally released. He ran, stumbling to his friends lifeless bloody side, as hot red flames rose up around them. The doctors all tried blocking John and pushing him away, then to his surprise, they began to laugh. At John? At Sherlock? John grabbed the nearest doctor by the collar and pulled him inches from his face. The doctor, still laughing, was Jim Moriarty.

Infact, all of the doctors surrounding them were Jim, all laughing maniacally. John glanced back at Sherlock but the flames had already engulfed him, three doctors melted into the fire like they were part of it. John was left to burn, all alone. He could hear a voice, maybe Jim's, maybe Sherlock's, maybe someone else. The words were hard to make out, but he knew what they were saying, that this was all  
Johns fault, that he could have stopped this. "I will burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

Johns eyes shot open and he bolted upright sweat dripping off his face and pooling on the crisp white sheets. He blinked and forced himself to focus. Now there was more than just salty sweat staining the sheets. Drops of crimson began to soak into the fabric and mix with the sweat. John brought his hand up to his face and felt a gash in his cheek. He must have scratched himself in his sleep. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Mary?" His voice was horse between his gasps. "Mary?" She wasn't beside him. The sheets were cold. John glanced at the clock, eight fourty-seven, Mary was already at work. He took a deep breath, steadying his ragged breathing. "Mary" hearing her name calmed him down. It was a dream, just another nightmare. John got up and took the sheets in to wash, no need for Mary to find out, she was always so worried about him,he really didn't know why. Aside from the nightmares he thought he was was doing really well. Not paying close attention to what he was doing, John put four times the amount of soap into the washing machine before closing the lid and going back upstairs to take a shower.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the steam off the mirror. His cheek wasn't as bad as he had feared, with the blood washed off it was barely even noticeable. He got dressed grabbed his laptop to checkthe count on his blog like he did every day, but never added  
anything. He also had an email from Mary, she had found him yet another possible job. Setting the laptop down on the glass table he  
picked up the phone and called the number on the email.

"Thank you sir, I will see you tomorrow." John set the phone down on the counter and turned the t.v. on while he made himself a cup of tea. The second he put the gallon of milk back in the fridge, the phone rang. It was a blocked number and John considered not even answering it. But, last second he clicked the green button and brought it to his ear.

"John?"

"Greg?"

"John, how've you been? Haven't heard from you in a while, how's Mary?"

"Umm, Greg, I was not expecting you to call, I'm fine, great in fact. And Mary is doing great. Uh, what's going on? You never call unless it's a case."

"Actually, no case. I was hoping if you wouldn't mind me coming by this afternoon, I have something for you. If it's too much trouble that is..."

"No, no, it's, yea. What time?"

"Two?"

"Yes, that will work. Mary won't be home yet if that's alright?" "Yea, it's fine, that might be best actually, so I'll see you then?"

"Yes." After hanging the phone up John sat back down with his laptop. He didn't really do anything for the rest of the day, only typed out another blog entry he had no intention of publishing.

Lestrade showed up at two, like he said, with a small box. They sat down and talked for a few minutes until Lestrade got up and opened the box, pulling out a DVD. He explained that it was the uncut version off a video Sherlock made years ago. John tried to take the DVD, but Lestrade hesitated.

"I probably won't even watch it." He tried smiling at Lestrade, but was sure he looked more hurt than okay. Lestrade left and John only stared at the box fore a while. He honestly felt okay about losing Sherlock. Of course he would never forget his best friend. For a short time, a few months almost a year actually, John got very depressed. He was rarely sober, even had been arrested a few times, Lestrade had helped him out with that. And Mycroft, until he all but gave up on John. Even his therapist gave upon him. But then he met Mary. And slowly, John had began to feel okay.

Coming back to reality, John grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured himself a small, reasonable glass before sitting down to watch the DVD. Sherlock appeared on the screen. "So, what do I, what do I, what do you want me to do at the end? Shall I, umm, smile and wink, I do that sometimes. No idea why. People seem to like it. Humanizes me or..."

"Just, fine, whatever."

It was hard to see Sherlock, walking, talking, being Sherlock. It was as if he was alive. John wanted to turn it off, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Why am I doing this again?"

"You're going to miss the dinner."

"Of course I'm going to miss dinner, there'll be people. How could John be having a birthday dinner, all his friends hate him. You only have too look at their faces..." John knew he should probably be offended by this. But somehow, he wasn't. This was Sherlock, that was what he did. "What was my excuse again?"

"You said you had a thing."

"Oh right, yes, that's right a thing."

"You might want to elaborate..." John knew from the cut version that Sherlock never did elaborate. He never did. It was always just a thing.

"...Right I...just, I need a moment to figure out what I'm going to do." John could feel the pain of being without Sherlock again, something painful rising in his chest. Trying to ignore it, he smiled and took a drink.

"I can tell you what you can do. You can stop being dead."

"Okay." John almost choked on his drink, it was like Sherlock was replying to him. "Okay, I'm ready now. Hello John." Sherlock seemed to be actually talking to him now, not the camera. "I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment, I'm very busy, however, many happy returns. Oh and don't worry, I'm going to be with you again, very soon." The doorbell rang and John paused the t.v.

It was Mary. She wasn't supposed to be home until... He looked at his watch. Five- twelve p.m. Where had the last three hours gone?  
"John! So sorry, I forgot my keys at work, foolish of me, I know, they're in my desk. No one will find them. I'm going to go change real fast. Do you want to make something or go out to dinner?"

"I, uh, I don't care. You choose."

"John, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. We haven't gone out in a while, I'll go grab my wallet." He smiled reassuringly, and she kissed him then ran upstairs. John pushed play and watched the last few seconds of the video before putting it back in the case and putting that and his wallet into his right pocket just as Mary came downstairs.

She was wearing a black skirt and a sparkly red shirt. John smiled at her, "you look beautiful."

"And you have tears in your eyes. John what's wrong? You can tell me." He brushed away  
the tears he didn't even realize were there.

"I'm fine. Honest. Just thinking about, him."

She pulled him into a hug. "I know, it's alright John. Hey, come on. Let's have dinner" He shuttered at the  
phrase. But went to the door with her.

*After dinner.*

Mary leaned on John while he tried unlocking the door. Finally it swung open. "Uh, I'm so tired. Really long day at work. I'm going upstairs, can you lock things up?"

He smiled and nodded, setting his wallet and the DVD back on the counter. He was surprised too find Mary's house keys sitting there. She did say she was tired and must have forgotten she had them.

John ran upstairs to hang his jacket at the foot of their bed. It was much to warm in the house to wear it and if he set it downanywhere he would forget where. Mary was already in bed and asleep, it was eleven-thirty. John stayed in the room for a second, listening to her breath, then he went back downstairs.

It was suddenly cold downstairs. Really cold. Now John wished he had left his jacket on. The lights were all off since they were both to tired to turn them on when they got home. John stumbled around in the dark for his laptop. He heard the floorboards creak across from him in the kitchen. "Mary?" No, John had shut the bedroom door, but he never heard it open again. From the same spot in the kitchen someone inhaled sharply. But not Mary. This was a man.

Johns soldier instincts kicked in and he dove forward pinning the man against the wall with his arms behind him, knocking a cup onto the floor where it shattered. Johns forearm was against the man's throat causing him to choke a bit and breath raggedly. The man was a lot taller than John had anticipated.

"Who are you! What do you want! How did you get in here!" Johns arm was so tight against the man's throat and he couldn't speak.

"J-J-John."

"You know what, shut up. I'm calling the police!"

The kitchen light flicked on and John closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. He heard Mary gasp and forced his eyes open, squinting, his vision blurry. Pale skin, curly brown hair, blue/green/grey eyes, sharp cheek bones. He looked like... John dropped his arm and backed away from the man.

"Sh...Sher...Sherlock?"

Mary ran over and grabbed on to John's arm, slightly hiding behind him. Sherlock smiled, bringing his hand I'll to his throat. "Sorry bout that... What the hell. You were...You are...You...your dead! Sherlock, I saw you die...You...how, how'd you do it?"

"Perhaps this is not the best time to tell you, you do seem to be in shock."

"No no, I'm fine. Tell me. And more importantly, tell me why." John felt such mixed emotions, he didn't know what to do or say. He focused on fighting back the anger that was building in his chest. Mary put her hands gently on each of their shoulders, massaging the tension out of John's.

"Why don't you two sit down in the living room. I'll make some tea, and we can talk. Alright? Go on then." They obeyed her and sat down. Sherlock in the chair, John on the couch across from him. They sat in silence starring at each other. Sherlock with his hands in their normal steeple position, with his head resting on them. Mary walked in with three cups of tea, she was the only one in the room  
smiling. "Here John, and, uh, Sherlock." She handed them each a cup. "Now, Sherlock. Would you care to explain then."

"Which one? How or why?" Sherlock smiled, like this was all a game to him.

John and Mary spoke in unison. "How." "Why." John glanced over at her and sighed. "How, first." Sherlock looked rather amused at the fact that John backed down and changed his mind because of her.

"I do believe how is the easier one." He grinned even more, obviously proud of his accomplishment. When he finished explaining the room was silent.

"Now why, Sherlock, tell us, tell me, why."

"For you John. I did it to save you. He had his snipers, the assassins living near Baker Street, you remember. If I didn't die, you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade would. If I didn't complete his story. And John, I cannot say this enough, but I am sorry."

Mary spoke up. "Complete whose story?"

This time John and Sherlock spoke in unison. "Jim Moriarty."

"But afterward, why didn't you contact me? Let me know you were alive?"

"Because I needed them to believe I was dead. And to do that, I needed you to believe it. I was only protecting you."

"You said me, Mrs. Hudson, and... Lestrade?"

Sherlock let a grumbling sound escape his throat. John could deduce what he wanted to, but Sherlock would never admit to having any friends other than John. "Yes Lestrade. My turn to ask questions. Who is she?"

John put his arm proactively around Mary, "this is Mary, my girlfriend."

"Why?"

"Because I love her."

"Why?"

"Because." Sherlock squinted at her, not even trying to hide  
his disgust.

Mary nodded and stood up, taking all three empty cups. "Well, I'm tired, Sherlock, you must be exhausted. Why don't we all get some sleep and figure out what's next in the morning. There is a spare room down the hall, John can you show him where it's at?" She didn't wait for an answer.

John and Sherlock both stood up. As soon as Mary was gone John pulled Sherlock into his arms, he would never have hugged him with Mary there and quickly pulled away, fighting the erg to punch Sherlock in the face. "The spare room is over here." Sherlock followed silently. John didn't even enter the room, he shut the door behind him.

Right before is closed he heard Sherlock whisper, "I'm so so sorry John."

They all woke up early the next morning to the phone ringing. John groggy answered it while Sherlock sat at the table reading the morning paper and Mary made them all breakfast. "Greg?"

Sherlock perked up and folded the paper on the table, listening in on John's side of the conversation. "Yea, I watched it. Greg, it's seven  
in the morning, what's going on?...oh, I see... Yes, of course." He put his hand over the phone and whispered to Mary, "a case, should I..."

"Yes." Sherlock interrupted smiling, genuinely this time. John rolled his eyes.

"Sure, we'll be there in an hour... I meant I, I will be there in an hour." He set the phone down and felt Sherlocks eyes on him.

"You still took cases when I was gone?"

"Sort of. I offered help when they really needed it. Not very often. He hasn't called in a few months... about a case I mean. Will you be coming with then?"

"Obviously. Why wouldn't I?" Mary set a plate of pancakes and eggs down in front of each of them, kissed John, then went upstairs to get  
ready for work.

"Sherlock, people think you are dead. It might be a bit of a shock, for you to just walk right in there."

"I know." The consulting detective pushed his food around with his fork.

"Sherlock, eat. You look as though you haven't eaten since ...then." To Johns surprise Sherlock obeyed him and eat all that was on his plate. They set the dishes in the sink and hailed a cab.

"Scotland Yard, please." The driver gave Sherlock a questioning look before pulling out. When they got to Scotland Yard peoples reaction were actually quite entertaining, even to John. They looked as though they had seen a ghost. Which, most of them probably thought they had.

Anderson was practically crying. "You were two years dead! What are you doing here back alive?"

"Anderson, I am always impressed at your level of stupidity, that sentence didn't even make sense. And close your mouth. Idiot." John actually felt sorry for the poor guy, Anderson may have felt more guilty than John about Sherlock death.

They walked straight into Lestrade office and sat down. "Ah, John, I just needed  
you to take a lot at... bloody hell. Sherlock?"

"Hello Lestrade." The Detective Inspector stood and looked helplessly at John for  
certification.

"Um, Greg, it seems that, well, Sherlock is, he's  
not... He was... He is not..."

Sherlock pushed past his friend and shook  
Lestrade's hand. "I'm not dead, you had a case?" Lestrade didn't  
move, only stood there staring at Sherlock.


End file.
